


Something Familiar

by virgo_writer



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bipartisan relations, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Lawyers, Pre-Series, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-07-12 04:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15987548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgo_writer/pseuds/virgo_writer
Summary: Five ways Sam might have met Ainsley Hayes before their encounter on Capital Beat.  Or five AUs I’d really like to see.





	1. The Long Way

## 1.    The Long Way

Summer 1989

Sam was about a eighty miles shy of his destination when he saw her.  A small blonde in a pair of indecently short cut-off jeans wearing a cropped blue sweatshirt with the words Smith College in half faded gold letters.  There was a rucksack on her shoulder, one hand shading her eyes from the sun while the other held a thumb out to the oncoming traffic.

It had been a long drive from California to North Carolina (in hindsight not one of his brightest ideas) and he’d been on the road already for about five hours straight.  All he wanted was to close those last few miles and get to the University and take a twelve day nap before semester started back.  Maybe have some food if he had the energy to do more than turn off a light switch.

He’d really had no intention of stopping.  Not even for what appeared to be a very pretty hitchhiker.  But before his brain could convey that information to the rest of his body, he was slowing the car down and pulling into the shoulder.

“Where you heading?”  he called out as she leaned into his open passenger window.

She smiled, her whole face seeming to brighten into a warm expression that rivaled the sun.  “As far East as you can take me.”  She had a rich Southern accent that was more antebellum than he was used to hearing around Durham, where that sort of thing was frowned upon.  It was soft and warm, like every word had been drizzled with warm honey.

He nodded dumbly and gestured for her to take a seat.  This earned him another bright smile.  In moments she had settled herself in the Pontiac’s passenger seat, rucksack stowed at her feet.

She turned in her seat, holding out her small hand across the console.  “I’m Ainsley, by the way.  Ainsley Hayes.”

He returned her infectious smile and took her hand, having to maneuver around a little in order to shake it.  “Sam Seaborn, at your service.”

As he released her hand, she tilted her head and frowned, although the smile did not leave her eyes.  “You don’t sound like you’re from Arizona,” she noted thoughtfully.  “Where are you from, Sam Seaborn?”

“Why would you – “ he began, thrown a little by the question.   He stopped himself when he remembered that his Uncle Miles had picked up the used car at an auto-show in Tucson, and had the plates to evidence this fact.  “I’m from Laguna Beach – south of LA,” he explained as he pulled back onto the road.

Tossing a smile in her direction, he asked “Why? Do you have a policy against accepting rides from Californians?”

“Of course not,” she replied, sounding prim but clearly self-mocking.  “Our last great president was from California.”

He scoffed, unable to help himself.  Great was not a word he would use to describe Owen Lassiter.  He’d been a mediocre president and a horrendous governor of his home state.  Even some of the more conservative members of his family (mostly on his dad’s side) couldn’t stand the guy.  It was only hard-nose conservatives who  . . .

His train of thought trailed off as he put it together.  He quickly glanced at the girl beside him, who seemed to almost steel herself against his next question.  Her arms were rigid and straight at her sides, hands clenched into his seat and her mouth set in a firm and resolute expression.

“But you go to Smith?” he gaped (assuming that her sweatshirt wasn’t just a fashion statement).  “You can’t be a Republican.”

“I assure you I am, Mr Seaborn,” she answered coolly, the prim tone in her voice not at all put on this time.  She’d turned stiff and polite, putting him at a distance.  “Since when was college selection determined by party affiliation.”

He scowled.  “You’re twisting my words.  You know that’s not what I meant,” he said, his tone as cool as hers.  “I only meant to ask why a person would _choose_ to go to Smith College when they belong to a party that opposes everything the university stands for.”

“Like what?” she challenged.

“Like education opportunities for women and minorities.  Reproductive rights.  I could go on.”

“Please do,” she answered sarcastically.  “It’s not like I haven’t heard it all before.  You’d think they’d mention it in the prospectus.”

He could tell she was only getting started, as she started her next sentence with the phase “and just so you know, Sam Seaborn”.  A part of him was tempted to pull back into the shoulder and just leave her there on the side of the road for some other sucker to deal with.  But he was determined to be the good guy, and they were only an hour out from the University. 

Surely he could make it through the hour?

* * *

“Just because you don’t like guns doesn’t mean that you get to dictate what the rest of the country does with them,” she said pointedly, her chin jutted up and her shoulders squared for the fight.

“Just because you like guns doesn’t mean you get to dictate that the rest of the country just tolerate them,” he rallied back at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him and shoved a handful of chips into his mouth.  It was hard to smile smugly around a mouthful of fries, but he somehow he managed it.  He’d definitely won that round, although he was still behind in the points.

They’d stopped for fries and shakes at a drive-thru just outside Raleigh.  He’d long since passed through Durham, but he just kept going East.  Stopping would mean that they’d have to tally up the scoreboard and go their separate ways, and he wasn’t ready for that yet.

He reckoned he might be a little bit in love with Ainsley Hayes.  She was bright and passionate and insightful and had strength in her convictions, even if he disagreed with her on pretty much everything.  He’d had more fun disagreeing with her for two hours than he’d had in a long time.

So he kept heading East.

* * *

A few hours later they stopped at a diner in Greenville.  Sam was becoming increasingly aware of the looming coast that would dictate either a change in direction or a final destination.  If he drove any further East they’d be in the Atlantic Ocean.

She waved at some girls that walked by as they debated the effects of pro-democracy protests in China. His heart sank.  It meant she was somewhere familiar – that it was all coming to an end.

He wasn’t surprised when she hung back to talk to the girls or when she told him she would be heading home with them, her eyes downcast.

What did surprise him was when she finally told him where she was heading.

“Look me up if you’re even in Raleigh, Sam,” she said, wearing the same sweet smile that had greeted him earlier that day.

So he kissed her, while his brain tried to catch-up with the rest of his body.  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, a hand going to her cheek and the other to her waist to pull her closer.  Her hands were pressed between them, pushing against him in her initial shock, but soon curling into his t-shirt and tugging him towards her.

When he pulled away he smiled widely at her gob-smacked expression.  “I can drive you to Raleigh,” he assured her brightly.  “It’s on my way.”

She eyed him suspiciously.  “On your way to where exactly?”

He blushed and turned his head.  “Durham.”

“Sam, we drove through Durham four hours ago!” she cawed.

“We drove through Raleigh three and half hours ago,” he countered smugly.

“C’mon,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulder and guiding her back towards his car.  “We can go the long way.”


	2. Cruel and Unusual Punishment

## 2.    Cruel and Unusual Punishment

 

Spring 1995

“Sam, I want you to take on a law clerk.”

He blinked slowly, trying to process the words in a way that made sense.  His boss, Amelia Gage, sat across the desk from him, waiting for his response.

Unwittingly, his thoughts on the matter were spoken aloud.  “I’m not a partner.  Associates don’t get law clerks.”

“They do when none of the partners can be trusted with her,” Amelia answered, her expression turning dark.  “She’s pretty and blonde and Southern and the boys upstairs will eat her alive.”

“So you’re giving her to me?”

Amelia laughed as she stood from her chair.

“Sam, I doubt you’d even know what to do with her.”

* * *

“Am I being punished?”

“Excuse me?”

His first meeting with the new law clerk had been going fine right up until this moment.  Right up until he asked her if she had any questions.  Only one, she’d assured him.  But it was a dozey.

“I don’t mean to offend, Mr Seaborn,” she began, the epitome of polite professionalism, “but it seems plain to me that I have been singled out – whether for good or for bad – and I would like to know why.”

“Miss Hayes – “ he began, trying to assuage her concerns, but she cut him off before he could get any further along.

“I can’t help but notice, Mr Seaborn, that the other clerks have been assigned to partners,” she pointed out almost brazenly.  “Mr Seaborn – and I mean no offence in bringing this to your attention – you are a third-year associate.  You don’t even have your own secretary.”

He couldn’t help but think she was being a little unfair.  After all, he _did_ have his own office and had a certain degree of freedom when it came to the cases he took on.  And so what if he had to share Mrs Walsh with two of the fourth-years.  That hardly made a case for inferiority.

Regardless, he chose not to dwell on that too much.  She’d finally stopped to take a breath, giving him the opportunity to finally answer her initial question.

“You’re not being punished, Miss Hayes,” he told her kindly.  Though he was beginning to think that he might be.

“Then what is it?”

He hadn’t really thought past the not being punished part of it.

His eyes scanned his desk, hoping that she wouldn’t notice that he was basically improvising at this point.  Luck was apparently on his side, as his eyes landed on a case file one of the Senior Partners had dropped off at his desk earlier that day. 

* * *

He didn’t like her.

At all.

He’d never met anybody so combative and competitive in his life.  And he wasn’t even sure who it was she was competing against?  Was it him?  Or was she trying to beat the other law clerks for some Unpaid Intern of the Year award?

He was becoming increasingly certain that Ainsley Hayes was some kind of cruel and unusual punishment.  The Senior Partners could be awfully vindictive when it came to unintended slights.

She was too outspoken.  And she spoke too much.  She was all hard where she ought to be soft and soft where she ought to be hard. 

What more, she was a Republican.  An honest to god gun-loving Republican who wanted to hold funerals for unborn fetuses and bury every convicted felon in an unmarked grave.  They clashed heads on almost every issue imaginable, and she had no sense of how backwards and wrong she was in every sense of the word.

Which is why he didn’t like her. 

Until he did.

He wasn’t really sure when it changed.  They were fighting, because she’d gone off and done her own thing again, even though he’d given her very specific instruction to follow the brief he’d outlined.  And she was trying to convince him that her economic freedom argument was better than his privacy argument, and he should have been frustrated as hell (especially because she was kind of right this time – though he’d loathed to admit it).

Only he wasn’t.  He was _smiling_. 

And she was smiling back at him.

And he just knew he was going to be in so much trouble.

* * *

Sam wasn’t a trial lawyer.  He was a very good contract drafter that occasionally settled contract disputes, but he was not someone who spent a lot of time before judges arguing his case.  And yet despite that he found himself in a courtroom, before a judge, in a Hail Mary attempt to have the whole thing dismissed with prejudice.

Ainsley Hayes, it turned out, could be pretty damn convincing when she wanted to be.

He returned to his seat as opposing counsel took the floor, wanting nothing more than to just collapse into the seat the with his head in his hands while he awaited judgment.  Instead he sat perfectly straight and rigid, doing his best to look attentive even as his thoughts strayed.

He felt like he was underwater – words around him unintelligible refractions.  His mind kept jumping forward to the next moment and the ways this might end.  There was no middle ground: this case would either make his career or end it.  He had no idea what he would do next.

But he was brought back to the present moment by a small hand clasped around his own, giving comfort and reassurance.  He glanced quickly at the women beside him, but Ainsley stared astutely ahead, not looking in his direction, but giving his hand a gentle squeeze that was a good enough for now.

The next moments passed in a blur.  The judge was speaking.  And then people were shaking his hand and smiling at him.  Then they were slowly filing  out of the court room until they were the only two left.

Time slowed down and the world came back into focus.

Ainsley was carefully rearranging papers in tidy piles, almost like she was trying to look busy.  And then she turned to him suddenly, papers forgotten and words charging out of her mouth like a freight train.

“Sam, if you would allow me, there is something that I need to ask you,” she said quickly, not waiting for his assent before barreling along. “And I wish to premise my question by saying that you are under no obligation to give any kind of response.  What more, I wish to apologize in the event that you find this line of questioning inappropriate or forward, or if I have made you feel uncomfortable.  I assure you that was not my intent and – “

“Ainsley,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and cutting off her stream of consciousness.  “Just ask the question.”

She nodded, took a deep breath and began again.  “Sam, would you like to go to dinner with me?”

He hadn’t been expecting that.  His mouth fell open in a gape and his eyes widened in surprised.  Dropping his hands form her shoulders he questioned, more in amazement than curiosity, “Are you asking me on a date?”

She nodded, shoulders squared and expression resolute.  The shyness she’d begun with had evaporated, replaced with a determined expression he was much more familiar with.

Any protests that he might have made – appeals to their HR policy and the perils of workplace romances – died on his lips.  It hardly mattered.  Ainsley Hayes was a force of nature and he was powerless against her will.

That said, he did the only thing he could do given the circumstances.

He kissed her. 

Just a quick press of his lips to her cheek.  Just enough to see that resolute expression turn to pleasant surprise.

“I’ll pick you up at eight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn it is hard to write a slow-burn enemy-to-friends-to-lovers fic in 1000 words.


	3. Campaign Contributions

 

 

## 3.    Campaign Contributions

Winter/Spring 1998

“Spanky!”

Sam practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of CJ’s holler.  The crowd parted around her.  It had only been a few months since they’d come together on the campaign, but already they’d all learnt that when CJ Cregg was hollering, you get the hell of her way.

“Spanky, I need you to talk to the moderator,” CJ said as she approached the small table where he and Toby were hammering out the Governor’s next speech.  The page was full of red ink and revisions.

He frowned, pushing his glasses up his nose and trying not to look quite so intimidated by the very tall woman before him.  “Why me?

“This is a Toby job.  Toby should be the one to speak with her,” he added quickly, then looked across at his colleague.  “I defer to your senior – ow!”

He rubbed his shoulder.  She’d hit him – with her pen admittedly – but she’d actually hit him.

“There’s a reason I’m asking you and not Toby,” she responded pointedly.  “If Toby talks to her he’ll make her cry and that will look bad for the Governor, which means I’ll have to talk to the press about it and you’ll have to do a speech about it.

“So how about you save us all the effort and go talk to her already?” CJ suggested wryly, one eyebrow raised and her expression just daring him to argue.

Sam took the bait – sometimes he couldn’t help himself.  “I could make her cry.”

Neither of his colleagues seemed convinced.  Toby actually snickered.  And CJ just continued to stare him down until he reluctantly pushed himself out of his chair and headed out to the gallery.

It had only been a few months – they were all still trying to get a feel for each other – but one thing he’d learnt quickly was that you didn’t mess CJ.

Out in the gallery there were still a few people milling around, but most had already headed outside to shake hands with the candidates.  His eyes scanned the room, seeking out a petite blonde in a pinstriped skirt suit.  When he saw her he made a beeline in her direction.

“Excuse me.  Miss Hayes?” he asked when he was close enough to get her attention.  “Do you have a moment?”

She nodded and made her apologies to the couple she’d been speaking with before stepping away with him.  “Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name earlier,” she said, her tone sweet and contrite.  “You’re part of the Governor’s campaign team, correct?”

“Yes, um. Sam Seaborn,” he said, offering his hand.  “I’m one of the speech writers.”

She smiled politely and shook his head.  “How can I help you, Mr Seaborn?”

He grimaced, wishing maybe they could have got through a few more meaningless pleasantries first.  It was probably refreshing to have someone be so direct and to the point, but he wasn’t really in the position to appreciate it.  “Yes uh . . . I just, we . . . wanted a word,” he began, words failing him, “only to say . . . on the . . . a couple of question . . . uh . . . from earlier?”

She tilted her head, blinking curiously. “Any in particular, Mr Seaborn?”

He nearly groaned aloud.  Apparently she was going to make him say it.

“Look, Mr Seaborn,” she began before he was forced to put it in words.  “I’m not going to apologize for what might be perceived as being hard on the candidates.  If the Governor doesn’t want to be asked tough questions he might want to reconsider this business of running to president.”

He scowled internally but did his best to keep his cool.  “I do appreciate your stance, Miss Hayes,” he said calmly.  “Only we felt that the president had been asked some particularly . . . uh difficult questions compared the other candidates.”

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the first indication at all that the conversation wasn’t going well for either of them.  Even as she wore an easy smile that said otherwise.  “Such as?”

“Well, for one, raising the possibility of a National Seatbelt law seemed unnecess –“

“As someone who went to college in New Hampshire, I can assure you that it is completely necessary,” she cut in.  And then abruptly changed the subject.  “I’m going to save us some time, Mr Seaborn, and just cut to the chase.

“You didn’t want me to ask the Governor about his stance on abortion,” she said plainly.  “Am I getting warm at all?  Or was there some other point you wanted to dance around”

“Of course we didn’t want you to ask about abortion,” he said, his tone heavy with exasperation.  Because really, it ought to be obvious that they didn’t want their Catholic democratic candidate asked about abortion of all things.  “Was there a part of you that thought we would approve?”

Her lips tightened and her whole stance seemed to change in an instance, becoming tightly coiled and ready to fight.  “I wasn’t aware that my job this evening was to only ask questions the candidates approved of,” she said bitingly.  She continued before Sam had the chance to argue back and defend his own position. “If they’re going to run for the highest office in the country, then they open themselves up to scrutiny, Mr Seaborn.  And I for one think that the public should have all the relevant information available to them before they’re asked to make a decision.”

He scoffed, although he didn’t disagree with the principle.  It just so happened that in practice, the properly vetting of candidates was about to cause them one hell of a headache.

“Governor Bartlet wasn’t the only one asked questions he didn’t like,” she added defensively. 

Again, he could concede the point on principle.  Senator Hoynes had looked very uncomfortable when asked about the NRA.  As had Senator Watkins when asked about universal healthcare.  But still –

“He was the only one who was asked about abortion,” he said pointedly.  “You practically handed Hoynes the debate.”

She turned her nose up.  “I thought he gave a very good answer.  It had gravitas.  Some would even call it presidential.”

“He gave a nuanced answer,” Sam rebutted.  “People don’t like nuance.  It makes for bad TV.”

“I think you aren’t giving people enough credit.

“And by the way,” she added, continuing once again before he could defend himself – as seemed to be her way.  “I agree with his position.  And I think the majority of voters probably agree with him.  The country is far less divided on abortion than the people at the extremes would have you believe.”

“Right now, it’s not the country we need to convince,” he answered, wishing he didn’t sound so tired and jaded in that moment.  He was only thirty-one years old and had been on the campaign for less than three months, and already he was sounding like a long-time political operative who was done with the whole system.  “These PACs live and die on the extremes and all they’re going to hear is that the Governor doesn’t support _their_ position.  We’re going to lose them.”

“I doubt they’re very keen on Senator Hoynes either,” she said with a shrug.  “At some point they’re going to have to pick the lesser of two evils.

“You need to stop working so hard to convince these far-left liberals that he’s one of them,” she pointed out.  “They’ll either vote for him or they won’t, but they’re not the ones you need to win over in the end.  They’re not the ones voting against him.”

He stared at her a moment, before speaking again in apparent non-sequiturs.  “Would you like to meet the Governor?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just, Toby’s – Toby Ziegler, that is – has been trying to say something similar for weeks now,” he said, trying to explain his change in subject.  “But I wonder if it might be more convincing the way you say it.

“Not quite so yell-y,” he added quietly, more to himself than to Miss Hayes.

“I think he’d like you,” he said, speaking to her once again.  “Leo McGarry says the Governor likes people who disagree with him.”

“But I – “ she began to protest.

Finally he had the upper hand, and cut her off before she could argue some more with him. “I’ll introduce you.”

He winked conspiratorially at her.  “You know, he’s going to be the next President of the United States.”

“What makes you so sure?” she asked, coming out of the fog a little.

He shrugged. “Just a feeling.”


	4. Femme Fatale

## 4.    Femme Fatale

Summer 1999

Ainsley always hated The Statesman. She found the whole place just kind of overrated.  It was always full of smoke and there was a jukebox somewhere in the room that only played Frank Sinatra covers, and even in the middle of the week it was filled with people, all of whom were trying to rub elbows with the who’s-who of Washington DC.

When Casey and Talia had suggested they go out earlier that evening, she’d actually been excited.  She’d been keen to take them to the greater Lithuanian place she’d found on Connecticut, and maybe to a nice piano bar downtown if it wasn’t too late.  Instead Casey wanted to go to The Statesman because she’d heard that the cute Junior Senator from Alabama was going to be there.  

God she hated her friends sometimes.

“Look who’s here,” Talia sneered, dragging Ainsley away from her thoughts.  She waved her drink dismissively in the direction of the bar, indicating towards a dark-haired woman in a slinky dress. Ainsley didn’t need to ask who she was looking at – the woman was practically infamous in their political circle.

Casey rolled her eyes. “If you were going to pick a fake name, don’t you think you’d come up with something more original than ‘Brittany’?” she asked scathingly.

“Isn’t it supposed to be your first pet and your street address?” Ainsley suggested, trying to divert the conversation slightly.  “I’d be Trixie Maynard.”

“That’s almost as bad as Brittany,” Casey laughed, shaking her head.  “And that’s your stripper name, Ainsley.  Not your high-class call girl name.” 

Talia would not be diverted, however (probably because Brittany had been spotted with the previously mentioned Junior Senator from Alabama less than a week ago), and continued to shoot venomous looks at the Republican party’s worst kept secret.  Ainsley thought it was rather pointless – surely Britany-or-whatever-her-name-was had been given her fair share of dirty looks from potential rivals, and it had little to no effect on her behavior.

Of course, with Talia so focused on Brittany the high-class call girl, Ainsley and Casey couldn’t help but attend to the same matter.  She was kind of fascinating in a way, like watching an exotic animal in its native environment.

“You can see the fe-male, ly-ing in wait,” she giggled, doing her best _Crocodile Hunter_ impression.  Which was pretty terrible by every account.

Talia snorted. 

Casey continued the narration, her Steve Irwin impression perhaps worse than Ainsley’s. “She ob-serves the pack, looking to pick off the weak-est link.”

She and Casey traded commentary, giggling to themselves as the analogy got more and more absurd until Talia cut in.

“Eventually a male strays from the pack,” she said, almost somberly, nodding her head towards a loan figure at the bar.

It was funny, because Ainsley had noticed him the moment she stepped into the bar.  Because she was a huge nerd – even if she was a Republican nerd – and because he was kind of striking – even for a Democrat.  But she’d forgotten about him and hadn’t even noticed that his seat mate had left. 

And dammit if she wasn’t a patriot.

She hopped from her seat without a word to Casey or Talia.  Before either her friends – or her own mind – could talk her out of it. Grabbing her mostly untouched drink she dodged through the crowd with trademark determination.  Once she was close enough she slowed her deliberate clip and then stumbled into the handsome burnet seated alone at the bar, sloshing her pink drink down the front of his shirt.

She cried out aghast, feigning embarrassment and contrition.  “Oh ma gosh, I’m so sorry,” she said, letting every word word ring heavy with Carolina charm.  “Honestly, I don’t know what got into me.  I’m not normally this clumsy.”

His gaze momentarily drifted from the woman behind her shoulder, and she quickly worked to maintain his attention.  She grabbed some napkins from the bar and began to dab at his now slightly pink shirt.  The connection he’d been trying to make with the woman in the slinky dress shorted as he tried to fight off her unneeded help.

“It’s fine,” he protested, trying to wrestle the napkins out of her hand and push her hands away at the same time.  “It’s fine.  Really. You don’t – “

Their eyes met in the foray, and for a moment those impossibly blue eyes almost made her forget her mission.  She gasped, her eyes and mouth falling wide as she put on an expression that was comically surprised. “You’re Deputy Communication Director Sam Seaborn,” she said in a loud, titillated whisper that made her sound nearly breathless.  

(And her 12th Grade drama teacher said she’d never be an actress – ha!)

Democratic Party fangirls were a thing, right?  Surely he had fans: cute and idealistic writers never went out of fashion.

“C-SPAN is not doing you justice,” she assured him, the first honest words to come out of her mouth.  Albeit words that would not normally make it past the brain-mouth filter. 

“Excuse me?” he questioned, brow furrowing in what was either confusion or deeply felt concern.

“You should talk to someone there about your angles,” she said, as though that were an explanation.  She leaned back slightly so she was looking up at him a bit more.  “Maybe from below to capture your jawline.  And less direct lighting.  You look very washed out on TV.”

The brow furrowing deepened, but his attention was now fully on her.  “Thank you?” he replied, more a question than actual gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” she said, grinning broadly as though she hadn’t heard the way the word rose a little at the end. And then she continued to babble about whatever thoughts came to mind (honestly, she would be _so_ good at filibustering) and he continued to stare at her like she was actively growing an extra appendage as she spoke.

“Is this a joke?” he asked when she eventually stopped talking long enough for him to get a word in edgewise.  “Am I being pranked?”

She smiled patronizingly and tapped his cheek, knowing her work was done. “This is me saving you from making one helluva mistake.” She lifted her chin and inclined her head slightly to gesture over her shoulder.  She knew from the way his expression dropped that the burnette in the slinky dress was engaged with someone that was likely less handsome but certainly more influential than Sam Seaborn.

He directed his attention back to her, eyes narrowing.  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” he said snootily.

She scoffed, dropping her cordial pretext.  “You are the Deputy Communications Director for the _President of the United States_ ,” she reminded him, heavy emphasis put on his boss’s title.  “As a member of the public, _everything_ you do is my business.  My taxes pay your wages. 

“And I don’t want to see the administration scrambling around over some pointless scandal because you slept with a prostitute when they should be making sure that the country I live in doesn’t get attacked by nuclear weapons,” she finished, jabbing a finger in his chest.

He scowled, looking like he really wanted to argue with her about the tax thing.  But then his expression changed, shock and horror filtering through his expression as the rest of what she said slowly dawned on him.  “That was a prostitute?” he asked in a hushed whisper.

Honestly, he was just too adorable.  He looked so childlike, eyes all big and wide, that she was actually starting to feel bad for him.  Which was horrible, because it certainly wasn’t her fault that nobody had taught Sam Seaborn not to be so trusting.

“A very expensive prostitute,” she said consolingly, as though that made it better.  “And just look at you – you don’t have the sense not to fall in love with her.”

He frowned, definitely offended by that one.  “That’s presumptuous of you.”

“Is it?” she said, titling her head.  “I’ve seen your work, Seaborn.  Someone in communications has a white-knight-complex that’s obvious from miles away, and I seriously doubt that it’s Toby Zeigler.”

His expression darkened, and she’d put money down that he’d been told as much before.

“So I’m some just some misguided knight titling at windmills?”

“Oh, hardly,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “You’re not Don Quixote. 

“You’re Dulcinea.”

He looked almost more offended, but she continued before he could protest.  “You’re Snow White taking a poison apple from the wicked hag so she can feed her starving children.  You’re the damsel.”

Something clicked after that statement – she could almost see the light switching on behind his eyes.  “I should have known I was talking to a Republican,” he said, pronouncing ‘Republican’ the same way people in her own circle pronounced ‘financial regulation’.  “What’s so wrong with giving to a hag? If she needs it to get by, why shouldn’t I buy an apple?”

“How is she supposed to learn to be self-sufficient if you just keep handing out charity?” she answered back, changing track to a familiar argument couched in unfamiliar terms.  “The idea of handing out money to every evil hag that comes to your door is simply unsustainable.  Give her skills and work experience.  You’re creating a self-perpetuating cycle where people never learn to be self-sufficient and productive members of society.”

He shook his head, eyes rolling to the heavens.  “You’re so wrong that even your own logic is tripping you up,” he told her, sounding smug and superior – and god she wanted to do something that would wipe that smirk of his face. “She’s a small business owner.  You guys _love_ small business owners. 

“And seeing as your lot won’t let us regulate poison apple distribution, she’s not actually doing anything wrong.”

She could tell he was gearing up for another long spiel, and she had absolutely no interest in hearing him extol the benefits of ‘poison apple control’, so she did the only thing she could think of to shut him up.  As he began his next dissertation, she leaned forward and kissed him.  Just briefly - the kind of kiss that would hardly make your grandma raise an eyebrow.  But it was enough to shock him into silence.

“How about you buy me a drink, Sam Seaborn?” she suggested, smiling winningly.  “And maybe we can find something a little more bipartisan to talk about.”

* * *

_“Ms. O'Brien, I understand your feelings, but please believe me when I tell you that I am a nice guy having a bad day. . . A good friend of mine is about to get fired for going on television and making sense. And it turns out that I accidentally slept_ **with a blonde Republican sex kitten** _last night who thinks that I’m the damsel in distress. Now, would you please in the name of compassion tell me which one of those kids is my boss's daughter?”_

_“That would be me.”_

_“What?”_

_“I’m your boss’s daughter.”_

_“Yeah, you know what, that makes a lot more sense.  This is the kind of day I’m having. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention the Republican sex kitten to your dad.”_

_“And the bit about you being a damsel in distress?”_

_“No, I'm starting to think she might be on to something there.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue taken from the pilot.


	5. Strange Bedfellows

# 5.   Strange Bedfellows

Winter/Spring 2000

“Sam,” she said abruptly, holding up a hand to stop him before he could really get going.  “I’m sure that whatever you’re about to say is fascinating,” she said, her tone forthright and without even a hint of the sarcasm he was accustomed to in others, “but I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

She waved a hand vaguely towards their surroundings and he noticed, for the first time, that the once packed ballroom was nearly empty.  The rests of guests had left – who knows how long ago – leaving only the two of them and the cleaning staff that were gradually closing in on where they were sitting at the last un-bussed table.  Every now and then a table was deconstructed a little too loudly, discretely trying to hint that it was time for them to go.

As she stood up he automatically followed the gesture, as though drawn upwards by an invisible thread connecting them.  His expression fell as the realization dawned on him – this was it.

The night – the incredible night – had come to an end.

But then she slid a plastic card into his hand and smiled like she knew his every thought.

“If you’d like to continue this discussion, I’m in 517.”

With one last beatific smile, she turned and walked away from him.  He was frozen, taking in the sight of her swaying hips and bare back as she drew further away from him.

It only took the distance to the elevator bay for him to come to his senses and chase after her.

* * *

 Josh watched Sam pace inside the entrance to his office with a strange sense of déjà vu.  It seemed a bad omen when eventually Sam opted to close the door before speaking.

“I slept with a Republican,” he said, his voice low and his expression grim.

Josh really wanted to laugh at the fact that Sam kept finding himself in these situations with inappropriate women (Mallory and Laurie were only the most notable on the list) but managed to keep it to himself.  “This is almost as bad as the time you slept with a prostitute,” he said instead.

“I think it’s worse,” Sam replied, looking contrite.  He paused, the speechwriter in him seeming to need to build up for the reveal.

“I slept with Ainsley Hayes.”

It took Josh a moment to make the connection, probably because he’d only really heard the name for the first time that morning.  But when he got it, he couldn’t help his reaction.

“Ainsley Hayes?” he asked, the words coming out brittle.  “Ainsley Hayes, as in _Elephant Rants_ Ainsley Hayes?”

“I believe you’ll find the blog is called _The Wisdom of Elephants_ ,” Sam corrected, and Josh sent him a look that cut anything else he might have added short.  “But that’s neither here nor there.”

“You slept with my sworn enemy!”

Sam grimaced, raising his hands in surrender.  “In my defense, I didn’t know she was your sworn enemy until you called me this morning, by which point it was already too late.”

Josh could swear his friends almost looked a little proud of that.  “So you slept with her before you knew she was a Republican?” he asked, wondering if this was the Laurie situation all over again.

“No that was pretty much obvious.  I just didn’t know she was the one who wrote the blog.” He paused again, looking thoughtful.  “Though I suppose in hindsight, I should have realized when she came to talk to me.  And we already knew about the Dreifort connection and – “

“How do you knowingly sleep with a Republican?” Josh cut in before Sam could contemplate it further.

Fortunately, Sam had the decency to look sheepish as he replied, “She seduced me.”

Josh raised an eyebrow skeptically.  In his mind he imagined Ainsley Hayes as some middle-aged, puritan type like Mary Marsh and Jenna Jacobs, that sat up straight like they had a giant stick wedged in there.  Not at all the kind that seemed capable of seduction.  “How?” he asked simply.

Sam looked away, scratching at the back of his head.  If anything, he looked even more embarrassed by his explanation.  “She made a very convincing argument regarding the election of judges.”

Somehow that needed no further explanation, and Josh just sighed loudly as he resigned himself to the fact that it had happened and there was nothing he could do to change the fact.  “Look, Sam, I’m going to be really explicit this time,” he said, as serious as he ever had been.  “You cannot see this woman again,” he said, emphasizing every word.

“Right, of course not,” Sam agreed a touch too quickly, but looking like his mind was somewhere else.  “Because she’s a Republican.”

“Because she has ambitions,” Josh clarified, hoping Sam would get it this time.  “And because she’s been making a name for herself by dragging us over the coals three times a week.  You can’t give her any ammunition.”

“Of course, you’re right.  I’ll just – “

“Ever, Sam,” he cut in before Sam could make up his mind to do something stupid. “Don’t call her.  Don’t go see her.  Don’t even go back to the bar where you met her.

“I think it’s best if we just pretend it never happened.”

* * *

 “I shouldn’t be here,” Sam said desperately, trying to catch his breath between kisses.

“You said that already,” she replied smoothly, that Carolinan twang doing things to his insides that seemed indecent.  He thought she sounded rather indifferent given that it was borderline treason.  And then she pressed her mouth up against his jawline and for a few moments he couldn’t think of anything.

“Really, I shouldn’t,” he said, coming back to his senses.  “Josh told me I shouldn’t call you.”

She stopped whatever it was she was intent on doing to his throat and pulled back about an inch or so.  “Sam,” she said, waiting for him to shift his gaze down to her.  “I do not want to be thinking about Josh Lyman right now.”  Then she went right back to attacking his neck with kisses. 

“Also, I called you,” she added as she moved on to unbuttoning his shirt.

That distracted him for awhile, but eventually the voice in his head (the one that sounded a little too much like Josh right now) got through to him.  He placed his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her back about as far as he could bear – just far enough that she couldn’t distract him again.

“I mean it, Ainsley,” he said seriously, his expression weary.  “What if I give away some state secret?”

She replied in a husky tone that brokered no arguments.  “Then we won’t talk.”  And then she slid his tie from around his neck and sauntered off towards the hallway.

He followed, as it compelled by magnetic forces, that invisible string drawing him back to her. 

In his defense, it was a very convincing argument.


End file.
